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Neon Shadows: The Caller Who Never Left

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The Name That Shouldn’t Exist

Ji-Hoon sat frozen, the phone pressed to his ear, his knuckles white.

"Because someone made a mistake. And now, you have to disappear."

His throat was dry. “Who?”

No answer.

“Who made the mistake?” he pressed, his voice sharp. “Who wants me gone?”

Silence.

Then—

"You were never supposed to exist, Ji-Hoon."

Ji-Hoon’s breath caught. A cold pressure coiled around his chest, squeezing.

But before he could respond—

Click.

The call ended.

The dim light of the old hanok barely pushed back the shadows. Ji-Hoon’s fingers curled around the photograph, his mind racing.

He looked up at the old man, whose face was unreadable.

“You knew me,” Ji-Hoon said, his voice quieter now. “Didn’t you?”

The man exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “I did.”

A cold weight settled in Ji-Hoon’s stomach.

He held up the photo. “Who are they?”

The old man’s gaze flickered to the photograph. He was silent for a long moment before speaking.

“Your parents.”

Ji-Hoon stiffened.

He let out a short, bitter laugh. “That’s impossible.”

But the man’s face remained grave.

“You were born in 1982, Ji-Hoon.” His voice was soft, but unshakable. “Not 1967. Not 1990. That year. 1982.”

Ji-Hoon’s pulse thundered in his ears. “That doesn’t make any sense. I wasn’t even alive then.”

The man watched him carefully. “You weren’t.”

Ji-Hoon clenched his jaw. “Then what the hell are you saying?”

The old man sighed, rubbing his temples as if exhausted. “I’m saying,” he murmured, “that someone changed your timeline.”

Ji-Hoon’s blood ran cold.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s insane.”

“Is it?” The old man’s voice was eerily calm. “Your name is missing from official records. Your birth date is gone. Your articles have no byline. Even your own family—”

Ji-Hoon flinched.

“—has been cut off from you.”

Ji-Hoon stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. His heart pounded against his ribs.

“This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’re talking like—like I was erased from time itself.”

The old man’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Ji-Hoon let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

Then he froze.

Because in the silence, he remembered something.

His father.

The way he always avoided talking about Ji-Hoon’s childhood. The photo albums missing pages. The strange gaps in Ji-Hoon’s own memory, moments that should’ve been there but weren’t.

It was small things, scattered pieces.

He had always thought they were just… nothing.

But now—

Now, it felt like something had been deliberately removed.

Ji-Hoon turned back to the old man, his voice quieter. “Who are you?”

The man studied him for a long moment. Then, finally—

“My name is Kang Hyun-Soo.” He exhaled. “And I was once a reporter, like you.”

Ji-Hoon stilled.

Hyun-Soo gestured to the stacks of newspapers around them. “I covered stories people wanted to keep hidden. Stories about people who shouldn’t exist.” His eyes darkened. “Like you.”

A chill slithered down Ji-Hoon’s spine.

“You’re saying,” Ji-Hoon began slowly, “that someone… created me?”

Hyun-Soo’s face was unreadable.

“I’m saying that someone rewrote history to make sure you lived.”

Ji-Hoon’s stomach twisted.

Before he could respond, Hyun-Soo reached into a small wooden box beside him. He pulled out a single file, yellowed and frayed at the edges.

Then he slid it across the table.

Ji-Hoon hesitated.

Then he opened it.

His breath caught.

Inside was a government file—but it wasn’t his.

It belonged to someone named Lee Seo-Jin.